We used to be a two income household. Prince Charming worked hard running his own company and I made a ridiculous amount of money answering phones and entering data at Nordstrom. It was a great job. It got me out of the house and into the hustle and bustle of the real world. I loved being downtown everyday, being in the thick of things. I saw Apollo Ono once across the street from my office. There were about 1,000 people in front of me, so he was really just a speck of hair and bandana up on a stage 100 feet away, but he was there and so was I...right across the street from my office.
And, of course, I can't forget the absolute primo advantage of the job. Two words.
Employee. Discount.
It was sweet.
And yet, phenomenally unsatisfying. Doesn't take a lot of skill to answer phones and enter data. It does, however, take quite a lot of skill to deal with obnoxious bosses and their whiny buying teams who can't do anything for themselves and constantly feel the need to question and complain and bitch and moan about all the crap they need you to do for them and all things that aren't right and where do they get this and why don't they have that and....I'm getting off task here.....
The point it, it was an unsatisfying job that was taking all of my time. Between the commute and the actual working hours, I was gone from the house 12 hours a day.
Obscene.
I mean, if I was going to be gone from my kid for that much time, I wanted it to be doing something that I gave a rip about. So, I left and went back to my original career.
Then It Was This....
Now, Prince Charming was working hard running his company and bringing in all of the money, and I was a teacher.
And it was great. I loved it. I could do it. I could do it without thinking about it. It just made sense to me. It was absolutely the best way I could think of to spend my time away from my family. To give something back.
Right up until the moment that I started to realized that I was spending all this time taking care of other people's children, and my own were being left behind to fend for themselves in dirty clothes and a filthy house.
That's the thing about being a working mother. You're trying to do two jobs as best as you can. If one is done well, the other is falling off. If you try to even it out, neither one gets the attention it needs or deserves. So, after some deliberation and discussion, I left my place in the work world and become what I never thought I would want to be, but now desperately needed to become ~ a full time mother.
"Fine. Now, figure out a way to bring in a little money."
How am I supposed to do that?
According to Prince Charming, the plan was to bake cookies and muffins and scones and stuff and wrap them up in cute cellophane packages to sell at the wildly busy espresso stand he was going to put up in front of his office.
Whoopee...
I mean, I like baking and all that, but enough to want to make an espresso stand full of crap every day?
Like....no.
Not to mention the expense of ingredients. Having to make and remake and rework and redo until you get it just right.
And the equipment.
And the packaging supplies.
And the health codes!
And....excuse me for mentioning this, but you don't actually have an espresso stand in front of your office, nor do you have any plans to build one, own one, run one or stop by one on your way to work.
"Alright. Alright! It was just an idea. I'd just really like it if you could figure out a way that you can make some extra money, okay?"
Oh! Look! A camera! Well, what do you know about that?
And Now It's This....
I've been at home for four years now, and I can tell you, absolutely, positively, unequivocally, and without a doubt, that my worst day at home is better than my best day at work. Unequivocally. There have been a few moments in the past four years that I thought he was going to maybe want me to go back to the real world. Do something that actually pays in money and not just in loves and snuggles and that satisfying feeling of feeding my family a well-cooked meal.
Like an actual job.
I'd start getting that feeling from him and the hyperventilation would begin.
I can't do it. I can't go back out there. It's gross out there.
They make you start and stop at a certain time. Don't be late. Don't work overtime. Be nice to the customers, even when they're being annoying and stupid. Work your ass off making money for someone else so they can drive the nice car and take the fabulous vacations and have everything your work can afford.
My head would swoon and I would pass out just from the thought of it. No. Not gonna' happen. Not going back out there. Forget it.
How about an apple pie instead? How about a pot roast? How about if I cook it naked?
Being able to work from my home, in my pajamas, with my comfy sweater slippers and a cup of coffee cannot be beat. I can edit when I want. 6:00 in the morning. 9:00 at night. Or...not at all. Take the day off and go shopping. My business, my rules.
The challenge is that the moment you decide to accept someone's money for the product or service you are selling, you work for them. And I'm essentially right back where I started.
I'm spending all this time taking pictures of other people's kids, and I'm not photographing my own. Halloween came and went, and I took zero pics. None. A big, fat doughnut hole...and it makes me feel a little Lloyd Dobler about the whole thing.
My Lloyd Dobler Moment
Here's what I've come to know.
I don't want to market anything.
I don't want to work anything.
I don't want to be forced to create anything.
I don't want to market anything worked or forced.
I don't want to work anything marketed or forced.
And I don't want to force anything marketed, worked or forced.
Art is supposed to be fun.
My real work lies within the four wall of the home I share with my family. If I can do everything I need to give them the beautiful, delicious, wonderful smelling, clean, and magical upbringing that I had and still have enough energy and inclination to read bedtime stories to my daughter and help my son with his homework and share a cuddle with my beloved and then be able to give some time back to me, then I will feel fulfilled
I gave up on the dream of being famous a long time ago. I can make a great image, but it isn't going to be amazed by my ability to make it. It can, however, give me some excitement, and a creative outlet and some insight into myself.
And that's the role I want photography to play in my life in the coming year.
No comments:
Post a Comment